Abyss
by Joel 7th
Summary: To most people, death is the most horrifying thing. But to a certain youth, death may be the only escape from his current situation. If death was to free him from that man's grasp, then so be it.
1. Chapter 1

_**A Togainu no Chi Fanfiction**_

**Rating :** T ( for violence, language and innuendos )

**Pairing :** ShikiXAkira

**Genre :** Romance

**Characters :** Akira, Shiki

**Preview :**

To most people, death is the most horrifying thing. But to a certain youth, death may be the only escape from his current situation. If death was to free him from that man's grasp, then so be it.

...

_**I.**_

Shiki had left again. After having drained off Akira's last drop of energy, the man nonchalantly put on his coat, his gloves, took his katana and walked out of the door, into the chaotic streets of Toshima. Bathed in the thick scent of blood, he only returned when the sun painted the monochromatic buildings a shade of crimson. Everyday, the mundane routine repeated itself.

Akira lied limply on top of the broken bedspring, in the middle of a mess made by the bed sheet and his carelessly discarded clothes. Naked, dirtied by the aftermath of their previous intercourse, yet Akira did not bother to pick up his clothes and put them on. What was the meaning of covering up when sooner or later, he would be stripped naked.

Akira glanced at the handcuff that attached his left wrist to the bed post. It had been there long enough for the metal ring to eat at his pale skin, forming a crimson bruise. One of Shiki's weird fetish, huh ? To see him in pain ? Or was it Shiki's way to keep his dog from escaping his leash ? His dog. The thought of being treated like an animal immediately heated up the anger that coiled in Akira's stomach, his teeth ground and his nails bit into the tender flesh of his palms. Thick droplets stained the unclean sheet. The more he contemplated that matter, the more he found himself resembling a weak, pathetic stray dog. Everything that man had done to him was against his will. He was dragged here and confined in this stifling room; he was stripped and violated by that man; he was forced to bend over night after night, having himself at the mercy of his 'owner'. Yes, the man had imperturbably claimed his ownership on him upon a metal pierce on his naval. Just like that, his pride, his ego was continuously smashed to tiny, unrecognizable pieces.

The physical abuse, no matter how harsh it was, could not compare to the mental suffering. After all, Shiki never meant to kill him; if he wished so, Akira would have long been a rotting corpse; all he wanted was Akira's submittal. Everytime Shiki used his strength to make Akira bend over for him, the youth kept telling himself that he was disgusted by what Shiki was doing to him, that he hated Shiki to his core. Repeating it like a mantra and he had the courage to oppose Shiki. His resistance was weak and undoubtedly, it would soon be crushed by Shiki's overwhelming dominion. Yet, it proved to Akira the vivid existence of himself, of a person named Akira, not an animal caged and tamed by Shiki's hand.

What was even more frightening than Shiki's abuse was the newfound truth Akira had just discovered. Against his will, Akira's body had begun to subliminally obey Shiki's orders. At first, it was just uncontrollable moans he desperately tried to suppress whenever Shiki had his way with him. But now, when Shiki told him to take off his clothes, though hesitated, Akira stripped himself naked. When Shiki told him to raise his waist, he did as he was told. He wanted to fight back, to give Shiki a hard time yet it was as if there was a silent voice inside kept whispering into his ears, slowly, slowly coaxing him into a belief that the more he could please his master, the less suffering he had to endure later. When had he begun to stoop so low ? When had the uncaring, apathetic Lost been destroyed, only to be replaced with a pusillanimous slave ? The truth, which brought a satisfied smirk upon Shiki's lips, was a thousand times worse than any tortures. What would become of Akira in the end ?

…

Wearily, Akira looked up at the sky. Through the dusty glass, the sky appeared even more ominous than it already was. Although the sun was known to be up in the sky, its feeble rays failed to pierce through the thick bank of cloud, resulting in the whole town dyed in grayish hue. No matter how they tried to look further beyond the dark, cloudy canopy, light never reached their eyes; no matter how they struggled, what awaited them at the end was eternal darkness. Despair, that was the only thing this crumbling town known as Toshima could offer its inhabitants.

Whenever Akira looked at the sky out of the small, rusty window frame in pure boredom, it was always the same; only a dull, hopeless grey his eyesight could capture. Grey seemed to engulf everything that surrounded him: the sky, the wrinkled sheet, the broken bedspring, the moldy wall. Even when he contemplated his own future, he could only perceive a lifeless grey. On that dim scenery emerged a vivid black that was Shiki. Vehemently, frighteningly, that man's aura absorbed the liveliness of his surroundings, consuming their life forces with his menacing air. Shiki was not a man; Shiki was a ruthless demon that fed on the lives of those who were weaker than him. The more he hated Shiki, the more Akira feared Shiki's reign over him. Judging from his domineering personality, that man would not loosen his steel grip on Akira until his interest in the youth died out. What would happen first, Akira wondered, that or his withering in Shiki's dominion ?

A dry, painful sound bounced between the walls that confined the narrow space. With his free hand, Akira had gathered all his remaining strength and hit the glass window, shattering the material to shards. In that swift moment, when all the hatred, anger, humiliation, fear and despair erupted in Akira's exhausted mind, the youth had decided. He had had enough of Shiki's persecution, he had had enough of being a toy in Shiki's hand, being used over and over to Shiki's amusement. He had had enough of being Shiki's collared dog.

It was the only to retain his dignity as a true human, Akira thought while planting a shard of glass in his right wrist. His artery was severed and blood gushed out uncontrollably like water being released from a broken dam. A satisfied smile adorned his trembling lips; freedom was finally in his grasp. As his consciousness was fading away along with rapid blood loss, Akira weakly entertained himself with his imaginations of Shiki's reaction once he came back to discover his dog's rigid corpse. What his expression would be like, Akira wondered. Would that be of shock or terror ? Though it was merely his imagination, the sight of those crimson orbs getting wide was enough to amuse him. From the short period he had spent by Shiki's side, Akira could not name anything that that was capable of horrifying such a man as Shiki. It was certain not blood or death. Judging by the way he cut down people so nonchalantly, it seemed impossible for goriness to terrify Shiki. Being a cold-blooded murderer he was, the man might even enjoy it. Not Akira's or anyone's death could make the unwavering light in those crimson orbs flicker. Akira pictured that Shiki would just cast an uncaring gaze at his bloody corpse before dumped it to the rotting pile of unnamed bodies located somewhere in this Toshima. He died before he had a chance to challenge the invincible Il-re; he was forgotten before he was even remembered. Such was the tragic fate of the losers in this town. But Akira wanted not to think about anything any longer. Death was luring him into its embrace with an enchanting lullaby and the youth found himself willingly succumbed to its lethal invitation. Before a tempting sleepiness cast darkness upon his heavy eyelids, his last imagination of Shiki was that of teary eyes.

...

This fic isn't finished yet. Please look out for the next chapter. Reviews are always welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A Togainu no Chi Fanfiction**_

**Rating :** T ( for violence, language and innuendos )

**Pairing :** ShikiXAkira

**Genre :** Romance

**Characters :** Akira, Shiki

**Preview :** To most people, death is the most horrifying thing. But to a certain youth, death may be the only escape from his current situation. If death was to free him from that man's grasp, then so be it.

_**_**...**_**_

_**II.**_

He never expected the afterlife to look like this.

His surrounding environment was a monochromatic grey, a color strikingly similar to that of the room in which Shiki had confined him. The fact that he could remember this much meant that the memories of his past life had not been erased. That was indeed a real shame since the last thing he wanted was to keep all the haunting images of Shiki and bring them with him to the next life.

His eyesight was a tad blurry and a terrible fatigue firmly bound his body to the mattress beneath him; he also realized he was lying on some sort of mattress since it felt soft and quite pleasant to his back. He tried to move his limbs but they were heavy beyond belief; had he somehow, on the dying process, ended up with a boulder tied to each of his limb ? Was this how death felt like to a person ? Before, he was pretty sure he should have felt nothing since his body, which related to physical sensations, had been left behind. His soul should have achieved true freedom and his mind should have been blank like an unwritten sheet. He should have forgotten even his own name. Yet what was he having at the moment ? Despite the dizzy that was chewing at his brain and the fatigue mauling his body, if what he saw could still be called 'body', his memories and sensations remained in starkly perfect state.

If this was really death then it was nothing akin to his perception.

If he was to try hard, he might manage to lift up his hand. Slowly, his trembling hand was brought up to meet his gaze. His heart skipped a beat when what greeted his sight was the white of bandage. The pure color had been profoundly tainted with large, shapeless blood stain. His blood, no doubt. That somehow explained the weariness in his body. Beneath the cloth cover, the flesh where he had cut open with shard of glass ached with a dull pain. When he tried to move his pale, almost transparent fingers, they felt rigid and numb as if they belonged to someone else's, not him. Putting all the small details together, he formed a conclusion that his attempt of suicide had failed.

"Such foolish act you have committed."

A voice raised in the air, coldly cutting his thought, each word dripping with cruelty and unwavering confidence. This was the voice that continuously haunted him in every of his waking moment, the voice of the man who had brutally forced his ownership on Akira.

Shiki.

Along with the voice, a figure clad in black came to his bed. When he looked up, his smokey-blue eyes met burning crimson orbs. That was only a mere, simple encounter, yet it was enough to make the inside of his body shudder. How could the eyes of a human possess such power ?

With no reservation, Shiki held out his hand and touched Akira's forehead, brushing away his long, unruly bang. Strangely, he felt warm. Was it because Shiki's normal temperature went up or his own temperature had decreased too much that he actually felt Shiki's cool skin warm ? Either way, it was not a bad sensation.

"You broke the window, cut yourself and made a real mess out of the bed. For a pet, you are truly terrible."

His act might appear gentle, still, in his speech, heartless sarcasm was never absent.

Emotions could create wonders, someone had said. Just a few minutes ago, Akira could not even move his body. Yet, in a surge of anger swelling up in the depth of his heart, Akira pushed himself up from his lying position, momentarily forgetting about his wound. As expected, a scorching agony harshly reminded him of his condition. New blood oozed from the mouth of the cut which required more time than a few hours to close.

"I advise you not to put more force into your hand or else we'll have a hard time dealing with it later." Upon seeing Akira's expression distorted with pain, Shiki calmly spoke.

"It's not your damn concern !" Akira managed to raise his voice in a hoarse tone. "Why did you, of all everything, save me ?"

"I didn't save you." Shiki corrected. "What I did was merely fixing my property, which, out of sheer stupidity, damaged itself."

"I'm not your damn property ! I'd rather die than having to put up with your humiliation day after day. I'm sick of being your toy ! I'm sick of being caged and treated like a fucking animal ! I'm sick of your face ! I'm sick of your shameless touches ! I'm sick of you !"

Rage bursted out fiercely, uncontrollably like a tidal wave, threatening to sweep away all pitiful beings on the shore. His pain being swept away, his condition being swept away, even his rationality being swept away. He did not care about his injure nor did he care about the following consequences, about Shiki's punishments; right now, all he wanted was to vent his frustration, his anger on the man who had robbed his pride and freedom. He wanted to give Shiki a piece of his mind.

Shiki listened to Akira with unusual serenity. In his red, shining pupils bore not the slightest sign of fury; instead, there was a twinkling mischievous like he was amused by Akira's tantrum.

"You're done ?"

As if teasing, as if mocking, Shiki smiled at Akira, whose face had become flushed and breath had become quick pants. His outburst of emotions had dried off what was left in his already exhausted body. Weariness filled his being to the brim yet his mind was at ease since all that had been troubling him was released in that fit of anger. He badly wanted a rest; nevertheless, knowing Shiki, the ruthless man would not allow him a peaceful rest after what Akira had done.

Shiki reached out his hand to Akira, his ungloved skin was an antagonistic comparison to the darkness outside the room. His long fingers seized Akira's chin firmly but not too violently; therefore the youth experienced little discomfort. With Shiki's hand holding his face in such angle, Akira was made to look straight into Shiki's eyes, which seemed to pierce through his façade, to the deepest of his core. In those eyes, Akira looked at his own reflection, anxious, weak, trembling. Those eyes, beautiful yet seething as if they contained in themselves the flame of Abyss, seemed to suck out the quivering soul of Akira. The longer he looked into Shiki's eyes, the more he found himself mesmerized by their hauntingly mysterious glow. He could not help but expose his weakest part to the man he least wanted to expose.

Unable to bear the searing tension Shiki had brought upon him with a mere look, Akira nervously averted his sight to Shiki's hand, tracing the outline of his fingers. Long and delicate yet strong and merciless, Akira wondered how much blood of fallen victims had marred this seemingly flawless skin ?

Shiki was not human. Though he hated to admit it, his master was the living embodiment of every of mortal's fears, yet on the other hand, every of a mortal's primitive desires.

His hand held Akira's jaw, his face leaned closer in a dangerously close distance, his breath ghosted warmly over Akira's lips, his voice whispered into Akira's ears, seductively, demandingly.

"You careless threw your tantrum at me, not caring about the consequence. That brave act kind of impresses me."

"However…"

All of sudden, Shiki's torso wrestled Akira down the bed. His weight was a chain that bound Akira to the mattress underneath, effectively extinguished any attempt of resistance from the helpless boy.

"However, you chose death to escape from the reality. That was obviously a sign of cowardice."

Akira's temples twitched at Shiki's taunting remark. If there was something Akira detested more than Shiki's abuse, it would be being labeled a coward.

"I'm not… I'm just sick of you."

"If you hate me that much, how about trying to preserve your life so that you'll have the chance to take my head when the time comes ?"

Akira was shocked at Shiki's straightforwardness. Was he too confident in his skills that he believed Akira could never win against him ? Or he conceived that Akira would never kill him despite his profound hatred for the arrogant man ? That was the most ridiculous of all ridicules. As soon as he had the chance, he would never hesitate to take Shiki's life. Definitely. Akira had utmost faith in his resolution.

Shiki's wicked smile crept up his lips as his fingers traced Akira's lips, softly, gently.

"Tell me… will you be able to kill me once the chance is in your hand ?"

"I…"

Shiki's hand freely roamed over Akira's chest and abdomen, never stayed at one place for too long, lingered for a moment to heat up the sensitive skin then moved. Against his will, his body submitted to the skillfulness of Shiki's molestation. It was an unneeded distraction to Akira's effort on concentration. Understanding this particular weakness of Akira, the man proceeded to take advantage of it. Apparently, he was in success as the boy's lips opened in breathless pants but hardly any words were formed.

"I…"

"What ? I can't hear you."

All his sensual touches ceased as his hand stopped dead on its track. To match the change, his seductive tone turned to that of dead seriousness. Again, his hand grabbed Akira's jaw.

"I only want to know whether you take my head when you have the chance."

" I-I hate you, Shiki. One day…one day for sure, I'll kill you with my own hands."

Gathering his will and courage, Akira spoke at once. He spoke swift manner, as if he was afraid he would be overwhelmed with hesitation. Ironically, while he kept telling himself that he despised Shiki to the core, that he wanted Shiki's death more than anything and he would gladly deliver the man's final blow, he had to use up all his will to suppress the hesitation which was unknowingly lurking in his heart. When Akira thought he had hardened his resolution, Shiki proved to him otherwise. With his mind clouded by physical need, his heart also wavered. Little by little, without Akira's notice, with everytime Shiki violated his body, the man deliberately dulled his fighting spirit, to the point it became a rusty knife which could not harm even a strand of his raven hair.

The scarlet in Shiki's pupils flashed an unfathomable thought before shifted back to its familiar sadism.

"Good. That's what I want to hear from your mouth. Burning hatred, soaring spirit, unrivaled valor. There's nothing that disgusts me more than gutless dogs."

His head bended down his lips captured Akira's in breathless encounter.

"However, until that day, you'll remain my toy, my pet, my slave. My affection for you will continue pushing you to the edge of insanity, testing your persistence. If you can overcome them all, I'll be waiting for the moment you end my existence."

His declaration sent utmost chills down Akira's spine. His mind lost its rationality as Shiki's strong arms forcefully embraced his shivering figure.

Once trapped in those arms, Akira was unable to think of anything. Not Keisuke's death, not his own shame, not his hatred for Shiki. At the moment, all that floated in his intoxicated mind was a sweet fatigue and the mysterious glow of Shiki's pupils.

...

Well, that's the end of chapter 2. Look out for the next chapter :D

Thank you so much for your comments. They motivate me to write more for this wonderful couple.


	3. Chapter 3

_**A Togainu no Chi Fanfiction**_

**Rating :** T ( for violence, language and innuendos )

**Pairing :** ShikiXAkira

**Genre :** Romance

**Characters :** Akira, Shiki

**Preview :** To most people, death is the most horrifying thing. But to a certain youth, death may be the only escape from his current situation. If death was to free him from that man's grasp, then so be it.

...

_**III.**_

It was stranger than his wildest imagination. The fact that Shiki did not force himself on him like usual was not what surprised him; the man was a cold-blooded killing machine, a narcissistic rapist, an arrogant owner but Shiki was not the one to go back on his words, that, Akira harbored no doubts. What confused him was Shiki's falling asleep by Akira's side, with his firm arms wrapping around Akira. As if afraid of Akira's lean form would slip from his embrace and melt into thin air, as if afraid of losing Akira, Shiki held him with such force that it was almost uncomfortable to breathe in. If Akira did not know Shiki better, he would be convinced this act had been carried out of desperation. Shiki was not the type of person to hold another so dear that he would be too frightened to experience the feeling of lost. Once you had gotten used to, perhaps even enjoyed, the sadistic pleasure of slaughtering, you were also immune to love and compassion. That was the image of Shiki that Akira pictured. Still, if he carried on with that train of thought, this act of Shiki was incomprehensible, especially when Shiki had never shown even the tiniest of tenderness to Akira prior to this incident. Not only had he saved Akira (though in his way of saying, it had been only to 'fix' his damaged property), tended his wound, Shiki also embraced Akira in his sleep. It was not a pleasant feeling, to be in someone's tight hug, but it was not so terrible either. With his body enveloped in the heat of another, warmth began to spread to every nook and canny of his being, so cozy that the gradually decreasing temperature in the room and the howling winds out of the creaked window frame seemed like a hazy dream. Despite there was no heater in the room, night chill did not invaded his poorly covered body, a living person's temperature was more than enough to fight off the coldness. Besides, lying with Shiki in such position, Akira could feel every of his breaths ghosting over the youth's shoulder, stimulating his sensitive skin; could almost make out every of his heartbeats with the steady rhythm of Shiki's broad chest. Before he noticed, his own heart had subliminally synced with Shiki's heart in a harmonious tune. This urged the blood to rush to his pale cheeks, warm them up with unusual heat. It was vastly different from the time his blood boiled in his veins and his face went red with humiliation; it was a strange, unnamed sensation never before the youth had experienced nor imagined to experience with a person he so despised as Shiki. Nevertheless, it was not unpleasant.

Breaths so hot on one's skin, chest heaving in tune with his heart beats, blood flowing in his veins to verify his existence; under the cold yet fair skin of a mannequin, Shiki was, after all, a normal human, the same as any other humans he had nonchalantly cut down. Only in his sleep that the twisted cruelty in his crimson eyes and the sardonic smirk constantly adorned his lips were absent, leaving his countenance in its genuine pulchritude. Akira could not deny that his blatantly egotistical owner possessed a rare, unearthly charm he had not seen before. One could easily say such beauty was very much akin to a demon's attraction; it was lethal yet few had the courage to reject it. Even Akira found himself somewhat drawn in it in spite of his full knowledge of what lied beneath such alluring façade. For a moment, he allowed himself to loosen his guard to appreciate a close view of his master's face since a chance like this would not come very often.

In this state of utter carelessness, if Akira was to slit his throat or break his neck, the most feared man of Toshima would just end up a lifeless corpse just like his victims. He would not have a chance to fight back nor would he suffer any pains; his heart would stop beating and his brain would stop functioning, a beautiful death like Akira had always thought. When this notion passed his intoxicated mind, Akira's blood seemed to stop flowing for a moment. All the warmth that had been embracing him vanished like he was, all of sudden, thrown into a black hole and he kept falling but never reached the bottom. What was this unfathomable feeling ? Was apprehension of killing ? Unlike Shiki, whose life might not have gone a day without killing, Akira had never deliberately taken a life. Deep down inside, he feared it. The sight of his adopted father killing a stray cat had engraved vividly in his memory. Death, he perceived, was beautiful; still, the act of killing itself was terrifying beyond his imagination. He had declared to take Shiki's life whenever he had a chance. When a chance was actually presented to him, he recoiled from carrying the act that would free himself from this nightmare called Shiki. Such was his irony. He was afraid to kill Shiki and he could not help but allowing this hesitation to slowly devour his animosity. Akira did not want to admit it but the truth lied naked in front of his eyes. Somehow, his heart and body had begun to form some kind of attachment to the man who was his captor. This was the root of his demur. Had he not touched the stray cat, not grown fond of it, the image of that cat brutally slaughtered might not have left such a horrifying impression on his mind. Had he not been in Shiki's arms, had not experienced the warmth of his body, his demur to kill Shiki might not have become so fierce. Yet, once that warmth had gone deeper into his being, passing the barrier of plain physical needs, there was no way for Akira to shake it off his mind. Everything else became surreal, only the pleasant heat of Shiki's body was real. No matter how much he detested Shiki's arrogance, he enjoyed the sensation of being enveloped in Shiki's arms, if not, seeked for it. This was the cage he refused the chance to break; therefore, he had no other choices but to remain trapped in it, endured it till he finally grew tired of it. Though he might resent it in the future, right now, it was his choice.

…

Blood loss had nearly consumed all of his vitality, his limbs moved with sluggishness and his mind in a haze. Despite, Akira could not call back the sleepiness he had had earlier. Sure he was in fatigue but even if he shut his eyes, he would not be able to drift into his sleep. Because so, he was forced to stay awake. The dawn was far from coming and Shiki was still deep in his slumber, Akira was left with only himself to contemplate the dusty ceiling while wearily waiting for sleepiness to claim him once again. Even such simple attempt was disturbed by savage thirst; right now, he craved for nothing than water. Just one sip of that liquid was enough to lessen the fire scorching the inside of his throat.

Hunger he could bear but thirst was an emergency need demanding to be satisfied. The more he tried to suppress it, forget about it, the more severe it would become.

There was a bottle Shiki had left on the table after his return. Probably water but other drinkable liquid was fine since it could calm his intense thirst. Akira tried reaching out his hand, testing the distance between him and the bottle. It was only a mere inch that prevented him from getting what he wanted; Akira signed in frustration, if only Shiki had placed it a little closer. Stretching out his arm one more time, he reached to the bottle. His fingertips barely touched the surface, feeling cool. If he could touch it, there was a chance he could maneuver it into his grasp.

The sound of broken glass was not pleasant to the ears. When Akira thought he finally had it in his hand, the bottle slipped from fingers and met it ends in dozens pieces. Its content spilled on the cement floor, reeking of a smell that was not water's. So engulfed in his physical demand that Akira had entirely forgotten about his bandaged hand. It was the hand he had used to punch the window, breaking the glass. Though less severe than the cut, the skin on that hand was littered with bleeding scratches. He had paid them no mind; still, with a rare consideration Shiki had spotted them while tending to the wound on his other arm. The cloth used to dress the scratches made it harder for him to grasp something with a smooth surface; therefore, the bottle fell from his hand to the floor.

His sleep was disturbed by a terrible noise, Shiki opened his eyes and looked at Akira through a dozy veil.

"What happened ?"

"The bottle slipped from my hand."

Shiki sat up with his hand casually rubbing his glassy eyes in order to chase away the sleepiness left in them. If Akira did not know Shiki any better, perhaps he would find a half-asleep Shiki very charming.

"You thirsty ?"

Apparently, that question was only rhetorical since he had already registered the situation. If he had not been so thirsty, he would have tried so desperately to get the bottle.

Shiki's gaze laid upon what had been previously a glass container of some fluid.

"You can't drink alcohol to quench your thirst."

Akira arched an eyebrow. That was not really what he had expected to hear.

"You drink ?"

"Once in a while. It's relaxing."

Akira did not know how he should react to this newfound knowledge. His mind toyed with the imagination of Shiki getting drunk and losing his normal composure. If such thing was to happen in reality, it would surely a sight to remember.

"It's a shame. I didn't bring back water. Only that bottle of alcohol."

Akira's temples twitched. Had he intended to leave Akira a whole day with alcohol instead of normal drinking water ?

Shiki suddenly rose up from the bed. He carefully avoided the broken shards on the floor and walked to the corner of the room, where he had laid his trusted katana. Bewildered, Akira watched as Shiki unsheathed the sword and came back to the bed.

"What're you doing ?"

Shiki did not answer his question. He only cast a quick glance at Akira's reflecting on the shining surface of the sword he polished with care everyday. Before Akira realized his intention, the edge of Shiki's katana had sliced open his palm. As if immune to the pain, Shiki's expression remained stoic when he extended his bloody palm to Akira.

"What're…"

"You're thirsty, right ? Take my blood !"

His query was cut short with a tone of dead seriousness. When he spoke with such tone, Akira immediately knew Shiki was not joking.

"Are you out of your mind ?"

Deliberately ignorant of Akira's protest, Shiki seized his jaw with enough power to keep Akira's mouth open. A flow of liquid was poured into his mouth; thick, metallic taste assaulted his tongue. It was foreign at first, to have someone's blood down his throat; nevertheless, it sufficiently cooled the flame tormenting him from within. The steel-like grip on his chin loosened without his notice; as soon as he downed Shiki's blood, his rationality was clouded with a mild haze. He was unable to comprehend the cause of this sudden bloodlust; all he knew at the moment was he wanted more of that blood. Unconsciously, he leaned toward, holding Shiki's arm with both of his hands.

His pet's reaction when he got in contact with his blood brought a satisfied smirk on Shiki's lips.

"How does it taste ? Good, isn't it ?"

Apparently, Shiki's taunt failed to reach Akira's ears; the boy was too indulged in his bloodlust. "This isn't enough." The thought repeatedly resounded in his intoxicated mind as he used his tongue to draw out more blood, hungrily sucking each drop like a baby being breastfed. When blood stopped coming, Akira bit at Shiki's skin.

A strong hand forcefully grabbed his chin, lifting it up so that his glassy eyes met a pair of crimson orbs.

"Enough."

The short command pulled him back to reality. Subsequently, his eyes regained their usual light, his hand was brought up to wipe away little blood left on his smeared lips. When he glanced at his teeth mark marring the immaculate skin, a surge of remorse hit his heart but he quickly dismissed it. It was only a small compensation for what Shiki had been doing to him.

Akira was surprised by Shiki's unexpected act when the man leaned toward him. The distance between their faces was so close that he could feel Shiki's breath hot on his skin. Was Shiki going to kiss him ? The idea itself was enough to urge the blood to rush to his cheeks. Why did he blush over such trivial matter ? After all, they had gone far more intimate than a mere touch of two pairs of lips.

He half closed his eyes, expecting a fierce assault. It was not like Shiki had never kissed him before. However, all his kisses, if they could really be called 'kisses', came without warning and were always too rough that they caused Akira's lips swollen afterwards. Instead of pressing his lips to Akira's, Shiki just licked away a single droplet of blood clinging to the corner of his mind and leaned back, restoring their respective distance. Throughout the course of action, his expression showed not even the slightest chance. In contrast, Akira was puzzled and disappointed. The wet sensation of Shiki's tongue lingered faintly on the skin he had licked and the youth swallowed hard when he recalled how Shiki had almost touched his lips. Shiki's kiss was not enjoyable; nonetheless, Akira was looking forward to it Heat started to coil in his stomach; he was angry. Did Shiki just toy with him like always ? Moreover, he was angry at his body for having reacted so strongly to a mere, simple stimulation.

"Now, who resembles a dog ?"

He vented out his frustration on Shiki, who was the cause of the weirdness proceeding in his body. Akira did prepare for Shiki's punishment when his remark which sounded suspiciously similar to an insult came out from his mouth. After all, Shiki was a man with enormous ego who could not, would not stay silent at an insult being carelessly thrown at his face.

"First, you bit me. Now, you even dare to bark at your master. For a pet, you have ill manner."

His tone was strangely calm, like a forgiving owner patting his pet's head. This enraged Akira even more because the fact that Shiki was not acting like himself confused him. What was going on inside his head, Akira wondered. Was he planning something ? Would it be better if Shiki just went on being the ruthless owner he always was ? As uncertainties piled up in his mind, Akira was prompted to provoke Shiki, to see how much it would take till his composure crumbled and his violent side took over.

"And who are you, the one that fucks a dog ?"

"A master can do whatever he wants with his pet."

"So, how will you punish me ? Beat me ? Fuck me the way you've been doing every night ?"

"Normally, I would. But tonight, I'm not in the mood."

"Not in the mood." he said. In the brief moment when these words left his mouth, Akira swore he could see all the arrogance, sadism and cruelty vanished from the mysterious glow of Shiki's crimson orbs. In those red irises always blazing with a frigid flame existed a deep void that seemed to eat away at his soul. Akira had once heard about a 'madness' that lurked in everybody's minds. Was this void a sign of Shiki's madness ?

For an instance Akira thought he had caught a glimpse of the depth of Shiki's soul. Shiki was a man of complexity; every of his actions seemed to be governed by his whims alone, completely lacking reasons. Akira had told himself that he did not give a damn about what Shiki was thinking, nor did he try to comprehend that man; yet, there was a part of him that restlessly aroused his curiosity. He yearned to know Shiki, searching with every chance he could have to find even the tiniest part that reflected Shiki's inner side. Shiki was undeniably strong; he would not allow others to easily see his weaknesses, especially Akira. His hope had eventually faded until today, when he could finally grasp a spark of Shiki's mind and what he perceived was a terrible emptiness.

He did not want to care about Shiki. However, the hollow stubbornly clung to his mind, haunting him. Subsequently, he let the reason he had tried to vex Shiki's anger slipped.

Sulking, he lied down, feeling really stupid. What was the point of getting on Shiki's nerves and later, getting punished by him while his utmost need at the moment was a peaceful rest ? After all, he had barely escaped the hands of Death.

Though with his eyes closed, he could feel a cool hand lightly touching his cheeks. Instinctively, he brushed that hand off, knowing fully whose it was.

"Don't touch me !"

"You crave for your master's touches so much that you can't sleep ?"

A smile crept up the corner of his lips as Shiki whispered into Akira's ears.

"Didn't you say you weren't in the mood ?"

"I'm not that terrible of an owner who selfishly denies his pet's needs."

"I don't need your so-called generosity!"

Akira turned his face to the wall, feigning sleep. He swore he could hear Shiki's light chuckles echoing in his ears but he paid them no mind because he started to feel the sleepiness brushing his eyelids.

The secluded space in the room soon sunk in the silence of the full moon. Without the tilted glass, its light seemed to shine more brilliantly than usual.

…

When he woke up the next morning, Shiki had left. The same routine repeated itself, only without the dull weariness left inside him after their nightly intercourse. Still, he felt weak. It was only normal when he had lost quite an amount of blood in that attempt of suicide. It would take some days, probably, for him to fully recover.

The handcuff was gone, only the whiteness of bandage was seen. When he realized Shiki had considerately changed his bandage before his departure, the warmth in his stomach spread to every nooks of his body. It was different from Shiki's embrace but equally, it was pleasant.

His stomach harshly complained him for neglecting its food intake. With no reservation, he grabbed the pack of Solids Shiki had prepared on the table. Omurice, his favorite flavor tasted even more delicious when he was starving. Shiki might treat him like his slave but one thing Akira knew for sure: Shiki never left him deprived of food and drinks.

Shards of the broken had been cleaned up. Akira chuckled to himself, Shiki had been overly cautious when he had destroyed any means Akira could use to assist in his self-destruction. Little did he know, the idea of suicide had ceased from Akira's mind.

The sky outside the small window frame was still the same as always; however, it was also different. A soft breeze came in, gently caressed Akira's cheeks.

There was something changing in this stale room, as in Akira's heart.

...

Note : Well, basically, it was the end of Akira's POV. The next chapter will be written in Shiki's POV.

Thank you all for the encouraging comments :D


	4. Chapter 4

_**A Togainu no Chi Fanfiction**_

Rating : T ( for violence, language )

Pairing : ShikiXAkira

Genre : Romance

Characters : Akira, Shiki

Preview : To most people, death is the most horrifying thing. But to a certain youth, death may be the only escape from his current situation. If death was to free him from that man's grasp, then so be it.

...

_**IV.**_

Shiki never flinched when taking down a man.

When it came to killing, some found immense joy, some cowered with fear; for him, it was no more than a habit, a part of his daily life, like eating, like sleeping, too mundane for him to give it a thought while swinging his katana. He held neither pride nor gratification in killing, just carrying out the act with grace and utmost nonchalance, the way true swordsmanship required its practitioners. Had he been born in another time, perhaps the era when warriors were still in their glory, he might have become a warrior himself and had his name written in history, as either a hero or a murderer. If you came down to their natures, a hero and a murderer were not so different. Whether it was for a noble reason or a despicable one, in the end, killing was killing. As every life was of equal value, no purpose could justify the act of slaughtering.

So, Shiki had no qualms in killing. Neither did he possess the slightest sliver of hesitation.

Perhaps, long, long ago, when he had had his first kill, he had hesitated. Back then, he was just a boy who barely entered his adolescence. As a child constantly trained to become a shadow assassin, it was his very first mission. His target was a man twice his age and double in size, a towering man as compared with his lean, frail, teenaged figure. Though proud in his training, when confronting such an intimidating opponent, he had doubts in his sword. He was required to complete his mission as neatly as possible; yet, it was a bloody mess he had created out of his target, causing real fuss days later. But he could not careless since his mind was too occupied with one single sound to ever think about anything else in this world. The final, deafening scream of the man before he eventually met his end in countless slashes.

It was not an assassination, it was a massacre.

That cold night, while still remaining in his jacket from which the blood of his victim was still dripping, Shiki stepped into a bar on the deserted end of the town, the place where no one would pay attention to who you were or what the hell you did as long as you had enough cash, and spent his first pay to the last coin to purchase an amount alcohol enough to drown his mind. He did not even remember how he had gotten out of that bar and staggered to his shelter. Had his pursuers managed to find him, he would have paid dearly for his carelessness. Still, he deliberately drunk himself to the point his trembling hand was no longer able to hold his sword firm, otherwise that scream would refuse to quiet down in his head, keep challenging his sanity.

First kill, first drink. Those were what he could never forget.

Anyway, it was a long ago. With time, his swordsmanship, his mentality as well as his resistance to alcohol had been greatly polished. Nonchalantly, perfectly, he cut down his victims; their pleads, moans or screams no longer stirred him. His mind, serene as the autumn lake and cold as the winter snow, needed not the alcohol to seek peace after slaughtering.

The Shiki of the presence never wavered when taking a life. Not those thugs' lives, not even his brother's life.

Tonight, his brother had fallen to his sword. Knowing fully that his strength and skills was far beyond his brother's, still, the boy charged him, betting everything he got on a thin, frail thread called 'luck'.

In those clear blue eyes that resembled the sky Toshima had once had, sanity was absent; what filled in its place was anger, hatred and even despair. Pure adrenaline boiled his blood, madness clouded his mind, the boy readily flung himself into the palm of death.

He could have spared the boy's life, just like he had done so each and every time his brother came for him.

But it was different this time.

For whatever reason had driven him into this desperate state Shiki could cot figure out. Still, there was one thing he was sure of : that was, Rin would not be able to return to this former self even if he spared his life. He had thrown everything he got, even his sanity, into this bet. To take his brother's life, he was willing to sacrifice his own life.

His spirit was broken beyond fix. There was nothing he could do to the Rin besides granting him a quick, painless end.

So, in a swift, smooth strike, Shiki gave an end to his brother's existence. As regard to the blood they shared in their veins, he made sure Rin experienced no suffering.

The moment Rin's body fell to the muddy ground, memories of his first kill played vividly in his mind like a rewinding film.

And, the first time after years, he relied on alcohol to calm his tulmulous mind.

Nevertheless, unlike the adolescent that night, Shiki found himself strongly resistant to the effect of alcohol. The more he injected into his blood, the somber he became. And because he was not drunk, he was able to recall Rin's last moment.

In his final moment, Rin did neither scream nor cry. Even if the boy had wanted to, the swiftness of Shiki's flawless swordsmanship would not have allowed him to utter the smallest sound. So, there was no terrible scream shouting in his head, only a stiff silence that seemed to manifest from the depth of Rin's hollow gaze. Those blue eyes whose color was of the midsummer sky were filled with alien emotions. Emotions he could not fathom. What was his last thought before his soul drifted into another realm? Would that be of shock or fear? Would that be of hatred? Would that be of peace?

Was there peace after a person's death?

Those eyes were vastly different from those of countless thugs he had sent to their graves. He would not remember any of those since they left no significant impact on him; those eyes, dulled by drugs, pathetically pleaded for their lives to be spared. But he was sure he would remember those eyes of his brother till the day his own closed.

Before he left the dark, muddy alleyway, he gently brought his hand to Rin's face.

…

Darkness faithfully greeted him like a loyal pet once he set food in his current shelter, the rundown apartment he had randomly picked from the deserted block on the quieter side of Toshima. His status, as well as the contract he had with that perverted man was more than enough to earn him a fine room in the luxurious mansion; yet, he chose an apartment with the minimum of furniture. Neither did he fancy the extravagance nor being part of the crowd. He preferred the fierce solitary of a tiger than the company of a pack of wolf.

However, he was no longer alone. Sometimes, solitary could be troublesome and recently, he had found himself a partner. It was a young man who gave off a certain air of defiance, as if there was nothing in this world that he needed, that he wanted. His eyes, his stoic and passionate eyes, caught Shiki's attention the very first moment their gazes locked. He would not admit he was attracted to this youth since it would sullen his pride if he did; still, he could feel a strong, primeval desire of possession arousing from the depth of his being. He wanted that youth for himself, to own him, to ravish him, to encage so that no one could ever lay their eyes upon him.

Was that only a mere obsession which would fade over time or something much deeper? For once he did bother himself with such question but he dismissed it as soon as it was formed in his mind. Why should he spend his time pondering such a trivial matter? Obsession or not, he could not careless; all he knew and ever cared was he wanted that youth and anything he wanted, he never failed to obtain it.

It did take long before he literally dragged that youth from the streets of Toshima to his dusty, rundown apartment. It took even less than that for the youth to lie on his soon-to-be broken bed, straddled, violated and eventually spent. Night after night, the same routine: cursing, fighting, beating (if necessary), dominating and being dominated. Surprising, it was almost a month but his interest in the youth had yet to fade; it was getting stronger. It astonished him as well, to realize the he who took a liking to something very easily and got bored with it just as easily could maintain his interest in something or someone in such a long period.

Once, after getting done with the youth, in a doze of intoxication, he amused himself with a thought of what he would do to the youth when his lust for him subsided. Would he continue to keep him as he was, a caged, helpless and humiliated animal? Or would he just end his life and dump his remains at some deserted corner for those hyenas to find and take care of the rest?

He laughed loudly at that thought. Mostly because it was too lame to fit his character. The perverted man whose hand he had joined with much reluctance might agreed with such methods for he took great joy in satisfying his sadism. He was different from that man. Violated as he might have, he did not take pleasure in breaking the boy. He did it because he wanted it, nothing else. Of course he was not obvious to the idea that his doings caused pain and suffering to his subject of desire, he simply paid it no mind. He had gotten used to placing his own wants above others' needs and this time, it was no exception.

He was just selfish, after all.

That lead to his extreme distaste for the idea of getting rid of the boy should he grow tired on him. Disposal was only a method fitted to trash. The boy was no trash. If he had thought he was, he would not have cut him down the very first moment of their encounter instead of dragging the boy back to his shelter. There was something special in him that made him stand out among the mindless thugs who were quick to drown themselves in this town. That very thing had caught his attention, stirring his desire. Because so, he experienced the lust to dominate and to own such a being, to keep and never let go of the boy even if he had enough of him.

He smiled. If that day did ever happen, he doubted it would be near. For he had yet to earn the boy's total submission.

…

In a blink of eye, he had thought he was looking at his brother's corpse lying in a growing puddle of his own blood. The illusion hastily faded for reality to kick in. In a mess of tangled sheet and bloody pieces of glass laid a pale, poorly covered body. That lean frame which had been trembling in his forceful embrace. That pale, almost translucent skin which had become flushed under his invasive touches. How could he not be familiar with those features? It was only this morning that he had been moaning in ecstasy; yet, at this moment, he was not much different from the corpses left on the streets except from the very faint heaving of his chest. Still, breathing as he was, there was no doubt that his life sight was a flickering light facing the upcoming storm.

His normally composure footsteps unconsciously quickened, so did his heartbeats as he proceeded to the boy's side. In that instance when he was sure the boy's life sight had not disappeared, he also realized that the boy meant something else to him than just a mere fascination.

He had been told that he needed to let go of all which he held dear in order to attain true power. He understood the meaning behind that saying; still, it confused him. He had no one close other than a half brother whose existence he barely acknowledged. And that said brother had also perished under his merciless sword. He should be free of mortal emotions since he was no longer bound by anyone or anything. Why, instead of power, what occupied his being was only a deep emptiness as if a part of him had been permanently taken away? And why his sword felt so heavy in his hand? When he glanced down to the naked body in a mess of blood and shards of glass, he thought he had found the answer.

This youth was the chain that firmly intertwined with his sword. This was the last attachment that anchored his soul to whatever remained of his 'humanity', also the last obstacle on his pursuit of true power.

His existence was bordering on the edge of death; if he were to leave the youth as he was, it was no doubt he would die in a few more hours. He could almost smirk at the irony laid out before him. As if mocking him, fate had set this up as a means to test his determination. Should he just let the current of fate wash the boy away from his life, pretending it was merely lust that had drawn them together? With that, he could probably cast off his last chain and obtain what he always yearned for. Or should he intervene and retain his chain knowing fully it would certainly hinder his way? For a person that killing was almost his nature, it did not seem a hard decision. Yet this time, he hesitated.

…

The hand that clad in black glove was bought to the youth side, not to kill him but simply to give him a soft caress on the cheek. "Stupid", his lips murmured, the word direct to the youth or himself he did not know.

…

He carefully studied how serious Akira's wound was and was surprised to discover something odd. It was a straight, clean cut on the wrist, severing the artery; an act done by someone who wished for death. But that was not what concerned him; instead, it was a make-shift bandage placed on his wound. Though only made of shreds torn from the bed sheet, it was helpful enough to slow down the bleeding which could like lead to death. Without it, Akira would have ended up a rigid corpse by this time.

When contemplating the possibilities of who had saved Akira, he could only think of a person. A person who could roam freely in the town of Toshima without provoking the Executioners, a person who could have invaded his place while he was out and left without leaving a trace behind. Who could it be but the man he had been pursuing for years? What motivation he had had in saving Akira's life he could not comprehend. Every of that man's thoughts, every of his actions were beyond common sense. Would it be of kindness? Would it be another trick on him? Nevertheless, whatever idea he harbored with his unusual mentality when saving Akira did not matter to him. For once, Shiki did not experience a raging aversion when the thought of that man came to his mind.

…

This was perhaps the very first time he ever found himself being so tender to a person. With much care, he cleaned the wound on which he would later apply a proper bandage. He had learnt the way to treat an injury back in his days of training; he even had clean bandage and a first-aid kit in his closet. Things could come in handy sometimes. He covered Akira's body with his coat and carried the boy to the bathroom, where he could rest in the bath tub while Shiki dealt the mess he had created. He cleaned the broken shards that littered on the bed and the floor; he replaced the dirtied bed sheet with new one that he kept in the closet. But for the broken window he had nothing to replace the glass so he left the window frame bare. It would be quite cold later but he had no other choice. After all the mundane tasks were done, he carried Akira and placed the boy between the bet sheet. Judging from his condition, who knew when he would regain his consciousness?

Sighing, Shiki sat down next to the bed. He had long ungloved his hand in order to carry out the task of cleaning. His bare fingers caressed Akira's cheeks, feeling cool. His temperature was usually lower than that of normal people's; especially when he often spent time roaming the night streets. He was aware if such fact when he had touched Akira's skin; the boy's skin was pleasantly warm beneath his fingertips. At the moment, when he caressed Akira's cheeks, he only felt a stiff coldness. The boy's complexion also seemed paler than usual; under the dim light, it was almost transparent.

"Why did you have to damage yourself, doll?"

Softly, he whispered into the ears that could not hear. Softly, he brushed his lips against the pair that could not feel such intimacy.

"I won't allow you to leave my side. Even if fate wants to steal you away, I will pull you back. You belong to me, doll. Forever, only me."

His tone, still dripped off blatant arrogance, seemed to possess an alien warmth his usual taunts always lacked. Being the cold-blooded he was, he was surprised to find that such emotion was present in his voice, that he was still capable of harboring such sentiment.

The defense he had instinctively built up for years experienced its very first crack. Whoever this frail-looking boy lying helplessly in his bed was, he had succeeded in crackling up Il-re's heart. For such great accomplishment, he should be proud of himself. Supposed he was aware of that fact.

His hand caressed the boy's soft silvery locks, as a rare act of compliment.

9


End file.
